It's hard to be bitter when someone lives to the ripe old of age of 94, especially when it's accomplished largely in good health. But I can't not mention just how much Bob Newhart meant to my childhood, and how I deeply it affects me to see him go nonetheless.
Although I'm certainly not the first person to grow up in a nontraditional family, the dynamic in ours was always a bit strained. When my 40-year-old father suffered a catastrophic brain injury around the same time my 31-year-old mother married my 24-year-old stepfather -- who was just 13 years older than my brother Bill -- the family entered a new chapter. The arrival of my (half) sister a year later at first seemed to unite us. But it didn't take long before my stepdad (immaturely feeling threatened by his new wife's existing obligations) and my two older brothers (resentful of a new male figure in the house) seem to draw lines in the sand, essentially pitting "Us (the brothers)" vs. "Them (the new little family)" with me -- in Best Little Boy in the World mode -- left to run interference between the two camps.
I felt a deep loyalty to my brothers but was also a(n unrequited?!) mama's boy who loved and adored his new baby sister. This was a lot for a young boy to take on, especially one who was already struggling to figure out his own nontraditional place in this world.
But the thing I remember most fondly from that time -- my saving grace, along with occasional family bike rides and hot-tub time -- is that every weeknight at 9 p.m. all six of us -- including the recalcitrant older Walsh brothers who were routinely sequestered in their bedrooms -- would gather in front of the television set to watch reruns of "The Bob Newhart Show" on Channel 5.
As cliché as it sounds, it was the one time I could always count on when all of my family's differences seemed to vanish, as we all sat spread out on the couch and the floor dying laughing over the delightfully ineffectual Dr. Hartley and his “eclectic" stable of patients (Mr. Carlin! Mrs. Bakerman! Mr. Peterson! Mr. Herd! Michelle! And even an early introduction to homosexuality in Howard Hesseman's "Mr. Plager" for me.), marveling at how smart and stylish Emily was, and wishing we all had friends, family and colleagues in our lives like Howard, Jerry, Carol, Ellen, Howie and even The Peeper. (It's no exaggeration to say that with my father out of the picture and my mother largely estranged from her kin, the "Bob Newhart" gang was almost like my substitute extended family.)
There were few things my family couldn’t bicker about, but we were all in agreement that Bob Newhart was the greatest -- and "The Bob Newhart Show" was our show. Afterward, my family would return to their respective corners. But I went to bed content, knowing that there was always tomorrow's episode.
I hope future generations continue to appreciate Bob and and his deadpan brand of humor. (His records and "Newhart" only add to his canon of work.)
I'm agnostic and all. But I'd like to think Bob is now catching up with Carol and Dr. Tupperman in the seventh-floor reception area of the Rimpau Medical Arts Center in the sky, waiting for Emily to drop by to join him for lunch.
Dr. Hartley may have never actually helped any of his patients. But he worked wonders for this gay boy stuck living in the real world. xo
